“THE CANDLE FLAME” by Larry Butterworth

I read somewhere a theory concerning that eternal battle between predestiny and man’s will—about how our lifespan both is and isn’t in our hands. That is—it is, to an extent. But only to anextent. According to this theory, we’ve all been granted a specific timeframe—a definitive candle length, if you prefer. We’re given this torch, this beacon, and then we run with it. We make do with it. We mold it…The quality of the candlestick depends on us. The durability and thickness of the wick also. There are many things, of course, that refuse to be grasped in our power and will—if someone knocks thecandle over, snuffs it out, or it’s enflamed in a house fire; that’s all quite out of hand. Game over, then, I suppose, if the candlestick maker can’t patch us up right.The focus, then, is just on what is expected. What is considered natural. What is up to us. As is, say, the location, certainly; have you put yourself in a damp drafty room so that you sputter and hiss throughout your life? Or are you enclosed in a suffocating glass-case, safe from the wind, safe from your own supply of oxygen, so that you do not breathe but can only watch your doubled life mirrored in the glass panes boxing you in? Or are you somewhere where you belong, breathing, flickering, dancing, shining, illuminating those around you, and letting time take its course?
“Angreek87″